The Job Market
Job seeking is just like prostitution without the sex and is probably sprinkled with more self-loathing and shame than walking the streets in a clingy red dress outside a dodgy massage parlour.
Every day you have to convince yourself that someone will come along and that you will get your chance in a sort of inspirational routine that leaves you feeling as hollow and unwanted as a smashed Easter egg.
You make the tea and eat your toast in pyjamas, long past the days where you used to actually put on clothes, or shower, or shave, or actually give a shit about your appearance in general.
The entire day consists of checking email and trudging through the same three job websites that have updated nothing since last Thursday, before later hoping you haven’t already seen this episode of Bargain Hunt.
The high point comes with an unexpected bowel movement or the telephone ringing only to find some monotone corporate zombie on the other end trying to upgrade your roof tiling for a reduced fee or sell you a biodegradable hammock.
You have become disillusioned with the world and need a routine or at least someone to come along and tell you what to do with your life other than eat a multi-pack of reduced price barbecue crisps as you had planned.
Your only weapon is your C.V. a piece of paper or a word document that is supposed to inform potential employers that you are fucking brilliant and not just another body that’s stumbled out of university with a certificate under their arm and unserviceable debt.
They say you will get your chance and that it’s tough during the recession, but the truth is you aren’t good enough and you will never make it. You should resign to stocking shelves in Tesco, but they aren’t hiring so you are still unemployed and even the every little helps pricks don’t want you.
What do you do now?